Page 47 of Hey Girl
“Why?” She continues to squirm out of her top, and God help me, I grab the bottom hem and peel it upwards; at this point it’s easier to take it off her then try to put it back on. Only she takes that the wrong way. “That’s the spirit!” She cheers pumping a fist in the air from her laid out position. “Now hit me with your custard launcher!”
“No babe,” I sigh, turning towards my walk-in closet. “Not when you’re not sober.”
“But that’s the perfect time!” She counters as I pull one of my t-shirts off its hanger. “I’m not nervous!”
No, she is not. She’s revved and raring to go but it’s not the version of her that I want to make sweet love to. As fun as itcould be having her let loose and go buck wild, there will be plenty of time for that.
“Some other time, baby” I coo as I return from the closet and try to put the t-shirt over her head.
“Quit trying to dress me when I’m trying to get nekkid,” she says the last word in a seductive rasp but I persist and pull the shirt down over her. “I wanna play with your pump action yogurt rifle!”
“In the morning, I promise,” I tell her. “Tonight, we’re going to cuddle.”
She pouts, but obligingly crawls under the covers when I pull them back, and after some more squirming and shimmying pulls her jeans out from under them and chucks them on the floor.
Not one for falling asleep as early as one a.m., I ditch my pants and slip in beside her before reaching for the remote. I put on the TV to entertain me for however long I’ll need before I finally pass out and pull Rebecca into my side.
Her eyes are closed as she rests her head on my chest, mumbling something about bashing her beaver before finally drifting off.
Rebecca
God in Heaven.That was the best and worst night ever.
Chris wrote me a song. He sang it to me. I conquered several fears, and I did it like a boss.
Blowjobs went down like a milkshake…blowjobs came up like Swamp Thing. I have a vague memory of Chris holding my hair back while I roared into the toilet.
I think he gave it an 8.7.
Now I’m dried up and hollowed out with a headache the size of Cleveland but I’m in a rockstar’s bed, so there’s that.
Well, any insecurities I may have had leftover from when Chris rifled through all my baggage and threw each one to the wind were obliterated by my antics last night. At this point I could probably zipline naked through his backyard with my hair on fire and not have any doubts he’d still want me after.
I ratchet my eyelids open and immediately learn an important life lesson for a contact lens newbie: don’t sleep with the damn things in. My eyes are dry and itch like they jumped out of my head and rolled in pollen. And I can’t see the blurry pink cylinder being waved in my face for shit. What the fuck is that?
“Morning Mouse,” Chris’s voice sweet talks and both hands go to my head to keep my brain from exploding out of my skull.
“Eh…” I grunt. “Not so loud.”
“Sorry,” he whispers. “I saw you’re awake and brought you a couple goodies.”
“Start with the pink thing,” I grumble.
“This,” he starts and I hear the crack and hiss of a can being opened, “is BLAST’s Raspberry Resurrection!” He changes his tone. “It’s one of their lower caffeine doses, and it’s got electrolytes,” he whispers his sales pitch.
The idea of sipping something fizzy does sound appealing.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I accept the cold can.
“And…” He says in the same salesman tone, “I brought you this!”
I see something white and beige swinging in my field of vision.
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s Iggy in a Turn it Up t-shirt,” he informs me. “Duh.”
“Awww, Iggy…” I drone out affectionately and hold my arm out so that Chris can tuck him into the nook. I’m feeling better already as he reclines on his elbow, settling in next to me.